Agnes McLeod
by Azureas
Summary: On Hiatus


This is my first hand at a Harry Potter fanfiction so please be nice! :) The plot thickens, trust me, I can only write so much in a 225 word limit summary.

Chapter One. 

An Odd Visitor

Agnes Macleod examined her reflection in the mirror carefully.

Her long fingers slowly undid the pearl clasp, which held her hair in place and a long river of auburn fell to her waist. She sniffed – her favourite food, pork pies, were not doing her body any justice.

A ring of fat, like a dingy, had began to form just below her navel, and worst of all, it was quite noticeable over the waistline of her skinny jeans.

She suppressed a bitter laugh as her gaze drifted to her thighs. The tight, denim fabric did not cover the tree-trunk-sized muscle which bulged beneath her wide hips. It made her appear singularly pear-shaped.

Then, of course, her beady eyes quickly flew over her face – the small mouth and the long nose she had unfortunately inherited from her mother.

At last, Agnes stood back. She believed modesty should never broaden to the point of dishonesty, so she could not help but admire the fact that she wasn't entirely ugly. Attractive enough, at least, to get away with any bullying at her new school.

"Nessie!"

Her mother's voice hollered from downstairs, cutting off her thoughts.

"Aye?" she yelled back.

"You have a guest!"

A guest? But who would be visiting her?

Her question was answered when she came across a tall, old man with a gleaming white beard, standing in the living room. He turned to smile at her after placidly inspecting a tribal mask above the fire hearth.

"Miss Nessie, or … "

He paused at the faint scowl on Agnes's face.

"Do you wish to be called by your full name?"

Agnes nodded. "J-just Agnes, please," she mumbled.

"My pleasure," smiled the old man warmly. His light blue eyes twinkled down at her behind a set of half-moon spectacles. "Now, I am wondering you do not know who I am?" he said, inviting for Agnes to sit down despite it being her own home.

She nodded silently in response.

"I am Professor Dumbledore, Head Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry … "

"Wizardry?" said Agnes sharply, speaking aloud for the first time. "I – I'm not learning to be a conjuror and do magic tricks and stuff. I'm very cynical about that all that. Sorry."

She stared morosely at her clasped hands but above her, Professor Dumbledore was chuckling.

"Has your mother not told you about the letter that came through?"

"Yus …" she muttered, "we thought it was a joke. The owl has been sent to a local Pet Shop."

The door to the living room creaked ajar and Agnes's mother stood in the door frame, hand on hip and looking mildly satisfied about something.

"It wasn't a joke Nessie …" she said in her trill voice, ("Call me, Agnes" murmured Agnes to her knees.) Professor Dumbledore has kindly explained everything and it all fits perfectly. Now, we know why the kettle exploded when you were seven."

"It was an old, rickety kettle mum from a car boot sale," said Agnes, looking up for the first time. "_I _did not make it explode."

"I was forcing you to take some Lemsip for a head cold," said Agnes's mother steadily. She exchanged nods with Professor Dumbledore. Agnes stared at them both, utterly bewildered.

Was this some sort of bad joke? None of it made any sense. What was a _Professor _doing in their small, terraced house in the centre of Staffordshire? Agnes had only ever heard of "Professors" at University's but she was about to start a High School, a new school. A new start. Away from the Primary School days when she had been blamed for numerous unexplainable incidents, such as bouncing off the walls of the gym when she refused to do a roly-poly and setting the school's bully's hair on fire.

None of it made sense. And now, it all seemed to be connected for some reason to this letter, explaining she had a place at a magical school named Hogwarts. For starters, the name was amusing enough.

"_Hogwarts?" said Agnes scathingly, holding the letter to the light as if checking for a watermark. "Do they not mean 'Warthog?' and what kind of a name for school is that anyway?" _

The memory prickled uncomfortably inside her because now, a tall, dignified "Professor" of magic sat next to her, smiling serenely around the room. Some strange aura about him suggested he wasn't a crazy old man wearing an outfit from a costume shop. He looked so out of place compared to the furniture, from the squashed sofa and faded Peruvian rug. On closer inspection, Agnes noticed he was wearing high-heeled buckled boots and even _she _couldn't stand up straight in her own stilettos.

"I don't like magic," she found herself saying, in spite of herself.

Professor Dumbledore laughed gently.

"And why is that?"

"My mum took me to the circus and this magician did a - er - card trick. He dropped all them and on the second attempt he guessed my card wrong," she said. "Then, he tapped a top hat with a plastic wand and a stuffed bunny fell out. So as you can see, 'magic' is just a phoney," she finished somewhat lamely.

Agnes expected for the smile on the old man's face to vanish but he was now laughing so hard, his tall plum, hat was in danger of slipping off his head.

"No … there no, _magicians_ you shall find at Hogwarts," he chuckled, "goodness, that has tickled my funny bone, forgive me, Agnes. Yes, the point is, is that Hogwarts is a school for people with special abilities – "

"– I'm not disabled, I – I don't have dyslexia or anything." Agnes turned to stare at her mother but she gestured for her to continue listening.

"– No, no. Special abilities as in magic. People at Hogwarts learn how to do magic for themselves. You are a witch, Agnes."

"What – what did you call me?" frowned Agnes.

"A witch," smiled Professor Dumbledore, seeming unabashed that he might have insulted her. But Agnes could not fault the sincerity on his face; she merely stared at him even more, as if seeing him properly for the first time.

"So, are you wizard, Professor Dumbledore?" she asked numbly, not expecting for the old man to happily to oblige. He delved into his robes and pulled a long, thin stick. This had to be a wand, because he was brandishing it at the tribal mask above the fire hearth.

With an almost lazy flick, it was levitated off the wall and floated about the room, glowing a bright, whitish colour.

Agnes's mother made an involuntary movement; the mask was precious to her. She had bought it whilst doing conservation work in the Congo ten years ago. But luckily, Dumbledore, sensing her panic, conducted for the mask to fly back to its clip on the wall, good as new.

Agnes's jaw had dropped.

"No wires, no magnetic fields … " she said, almost to herself.

"No," said Dumbledore kindly, stowing his wand away. He handed her another letter. This time, Agnes read it carefully and it all seemed to make sense. However, when she saw the list of equipment needed, her heart sank.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"I haven't got any money," she said baldly. "Books, scales, a pet, a wand …mum only works as a dinner lady and she's got to keep the mortgage going and my dinner money and all that."

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, and he got out a small leather pouch that was filled with money. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance in buying their school supplies. School books and robes." He paused and smiled up at Agnes's mother. "So you would not have to worry Ms McLeod about any cost."

"Well that's very kind of you," said Ms McLeod, putting a hand to her chest and smiling appreciatively. "Very kind indeed. But where would Nessie get her school supplies? Nowhere in Stoke would sell a wand or – we could get a pet from a friend of mine who runs a Pet Shop down the road …" she tailed off as Dumbledore smiled indulgently at her words.

"It is not a problem Ms McLeod. Diagon Alley in London encases everything needed on the list. If you are having trouble in getting there send an owl and I shall come and help you."

"An owl …" said Ms McLeod faintly. "Don't have one of them around here."

"I believe the owl you sent to your friend's Pet Shop is eager to assist," said Dumbledore. He removed his robe and popped a real live owl. The same identical one that had caused a stir one morning in the kitchen. "Any qualms, doubts, tomatoes you wish to send my way, Apollo here will find me and I will come."

"Its name's Apollo?" asked Agnes, speaking for the first time in minutes. Dumbledore nodded and leapt spryly to his feet, despite his withered appearance.

"I must go, most unforgiving, but time is against me. Thank you very much for the tea Ms McLeod and I look forward to seeing Agnes at Hogwarts very soon."

"O- of course …" said Ms McLeod, standing back in the door to allow for Dumbledore to pass. He bowed himself out of the small kitchen and as Agnes peered down the long terraced street, the tall, high-heeled man had vanished.


End file.
